The Gembound: The Price of Keeping Chapter 129: Volume 5: Chapter 115 – Songs of the Empire

Read chapter 129 of The Gembound: The Price of Keeping by Taliorn on NovelPedia.

Volume 5: Chapter 115 – Songs of the Empire Day 103 • Eldania Four days had passed since the Bore Beasts carved their first tunnels. The new clerics and bards arrived through the teleportation circle after sunset, stepping from Aramore's war room into Eldania's courtyard in a shimmer of light. Rosa and two soldiers guided them past the reinforced pens where the Bore Beasts slept, their stone-plated sides rising and falling with slow, thunderous breaths. Finnder, the fiddler from Saltwhistle, stopped dead. "Those are... real?" "Very," Rosa said. "Keep walking." Dinna, the singer from Aramore, clutched her instrument case tighter. "Are they safe?" "Not remotely," Rosa replied. "But they're ours." Tic-Tok, the masked performer from Rainbow City, tilted their head and whispered: "Stone-breakers sleep in stone-made beds, while flesh-folk walk with wondering heads." William, the lute player from Aethelmar, adjusted his glasses nervously. "I was told this would be a cultural assignment." "It is," Rosa said. "You're just enhancing culture in a military fortress surrounded by monsters." Cindy, the drum-maker's daughter from Eldania, said nothing. She just stared at the sleeping beasts with quiet intensity. And then there was Susie. An older woman, hair thin and gray, eyes bright with mischief that had survived decades. She wore a patched traveling cloak with little bells sewn into the hem and walked like she owned every stage she'd ever crossed. She bowed with a flourish when Yara approached. "I should warn you," Susie said, "I haven't been quiet since I was twelve, and I don't intend to start now." Rosa blinked. "You volunteered." Susie winked. "I heard the Empress is making miracles. I want to see one from the front row." Yara held back a smile. "You may regret that." "Oh, absolutely," Susie said. "But regrets make the best ballads." Gayle took inventory. Renn carried a lantern and a ledger. Yara waited in the center of the courtyard, wings folded, watching. She gestured toward the ritual chamber. "Let's begin." THE PRIESTS FIRST A young cleric named Marn. Barely twenty. Eyes red-rimmed from nights of failing to heal what prayer once promised. He knelt in the center of the ritual circle. His anchor: A cracked holy symbol from a forgotten god And a small phial of healing draught. Yara placed them on either side of him. “Marn,” she said softly, “this will hurt. Every part of you will be broken and remade. You will not be able to doubt me afterward.” He swallowed. “I already don’t.” The Gem stirred. Faith is soft. Make it sharper. Break him until belief is the only thing left standing. Yara pressed her palm to his chest. Light surged. He arched, crying out as his spine bowed and joints cracked. Skin rippled as empathy flooded him—every wound in the city, every hidden grief, every quiet ache becoming sensation in his chest. His face contorted, then smoothed. His breath hitched, then steadied. When the transformation ended, he sank forward, trembling. His eyes glowed faint silver-green. “I hear them,” he whispered. “Every hurt. Every sorrow. All at once. I can hold it. I can heal it.” Rosa wiped her face silently. Gayle nodded. “Good. Rise.” He rose. Behind him, the other two clerics knelt. Their transformations were quicker, quieter, and when they stood, their eyes carried the same silver-green glow. Yara turned to the bards next. The air in the room shifted. Even the Bore Beasts stirred in their sleep. THE BARDIC TRANSFORMATIONS BEGIN Six bards stepped forward. From Aethelmar: a lute player with careful hands. From Aramore: a singer with a voice like warm honey. From Saltwhistle: a fiddler who carried a cracked instrument patched a dozen times. From Rainbow City: a masked performer who spoke only in rhyme. From Eldania: a drum-maker’s daughter, quiet but intense. And Susie, representing the wandering free performers who drifted from city to city. Renn whispered to Yara, “Six. One for each major city.” “And one for me,” Yara murmured. “S